


What's in the Box?

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Awesome Benny, Bartender Dean, Benny Lafitte & Dean Winchester Friendship, Dildos, Eve made me do it, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Mechanic Dean, Openly Bisexual Dean, Restaurant Owner Benny, Surprised Dean, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-05 23:05:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5393576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The man bumps into him again trying to escape this awkward situation. That’s when Dean sees what’s inside the box, despite the other guy’s haste attempt at covering it with his other arm. He hears the guy gulp even though there’s dozens of noisy cars teething the intersection around them. </p><p>“I… I can explain…”</p><p>“No, uh…” Dean bites the corner of his lip. “I get it. I mean…hmm…”</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's in the Box?

**Author's Note:**

> Not my best work, in my opinion, but this idea was nagging at me to be written. My best friend inspired what Cas was carrying and Misha's little prank on Jared inspired the *ahem* medium of the... sculptures.

Dean’s brother should be the one with a human leech floating inside his stomach.

Honestly, Sam gripes and moans more than his bride to-be for someone who just bought a quarter of a million dollar home. Jess—bless her heart,as they say in the upstairs South—might as well be breastfeeding two kids in the next couple of months.

Then again, that grotesque mental picture would likely result in coition, which meant a _third_ child. Not only would that put a strain on sweet Jessica, but would require more manual labor out of Dean.While he was down for the whole _hermano-e-hermano_ bonding experience, Dean was nowhere near emotionally ready to unpack his little brother’s boxer-briefs.

_I’ll be there in 5_

_Please,_ Sam replied, _you’re at least five blocks away._

_How do you do that!??!?!_

_I used the Shining. Dean, you’re my brother._

Dean can’t argue with that. He did raise the kid well into his teens; he’ll proudly take credit where credit is due. Huffing, he shoves his flip phone into his pocket and continues his journey down the yellow brick road (yellow for all the wrong reasons…) leading to Sam’s USS Enterprise.

Dean’s feet cramp up and he really wishes his toes weren’t so cozy in these pricy red Dr. Martens (happy birthday to him). He’s mere feet from the crosswalk when something crashes into him—or rather _he_ crashes into something. The unmistakable sound of broken glass rattles his ears as his eyes land on a moving box, the top thrown wide open.

“Oh shit,” Dean winces. “I’m so, _so_ sorry.”

The hands clutching the box bleed into a _very_ nice face. The man has shaggy dark hair—a stark contrast from his deep, probing blue eyes enslaved under lashes that are incontestably Maybelline. His cheekbones are high and smooth unlike his chapped pink lips. Dean can only imagine what he’s hiding behind the box.

“It’s okay, it’s just junk,” he says in a small but deep voice that sends chills skating down Dean’s spine as his heart skids to a stop.

“Seriously, it was my fault, man. If I broke something valuable, I’ll pay whatever—”

“It’s alright, really, I should be going.”

The man bumps into him again trying to escape this awkward situation. That’s when Dean sees what’s inside the box, despite the other guy’s haste attempt at covering it with his other arm. He hears the guy gulp even though there’s dozens of noisy cars teething the intersection around them.

“I… I can explain…”

“No, uh…” Dean bites the corner of his lip. “I get it. I mean…hmm…” Dean takes the guy’s silence as an opportunity to count how many are in the box: _6… 9, 10, 11…_ 12.

12 glass dildos.

12 _shattered_ glass dildos, but glass dildos nonetheless.

As usual, Dean’s thoughts drill a passageway into his speaking hole and he says, with his eyes angled at one… sculpture that stayed almost entirely intact, “Is that a tip?”

Somehow, it elicits a burst of laughter from the man in front of him. “Yeah,” he replies, shaking his head with a dick-hardening smile brushed across his face, “it probably is.”

“You mean you’ve never… you know?”

“Noticed?” Blue Eyes suggests, still grinning as he sets the box down. He shakes his head again before rubbing the back of his neck. “They’re my ex’s. I’ve been meaning to toss them for over a month, but I couldn’t really bring myself to until today. Found out he’s been sleeping around.”

Dean frowns. “I’m sorry, man.”

“Cas,” he says, lending out his newly free hand. “And it’s alright. Unless you’re the guy in 104.”

Dean takes it, lingering a little. It’s like he did the Time Warp back to high school and he’s a walking grease pole all over again. “Dean,” he replies. “And I live in 107.”

“Watch out, he’s on the prowl.”

“I’m not interested,” Dean states, keeping his gaze on Cas. Just when Dean thought he couldn’t get any more handsome, Cas’s smile pokes his dimples. Meanwhile, his phone is buzzing excitedly against his thigh: Cockblocker Sam, est. 1992. “I am interested, however, in taking you to lunch.”

Cas’s eyebrows lift like jumping beans. “Oh, I couldn’t… I mean, if you have someplace to be—”

“I don’t, Scouts Honor,” he says, brushing past Cas to hoist the box in his arms. “It’s the least I can do for getting in the way of your last shot at revenge.”

Cas extends his hand. “Lead the way, Dean.”

***

After dumping the box and its contents, Dean and Cas arrive at a hole-in-the-wall joint two blocks over where, blessedly, road construction was underway. Not only did he have a formidable excuse should Sam tear into him, but the freshly paved gravel was warm beneath their trembling feet.

Benny’s Bayou lived up to its name. The place sat on the corner of the sidewalk with a slapdash sign on the front door that said: _Don’t be shy, stop on by!_ It was Elizabeth’s handwriting, judging by the colored-in chalk heart in place of the dot under the exclamation point.

Dean shadowed Cas into the establishment, and before either of them could call for a bar wench, the owner, a burly Cajun man with a penchant for _Kiss the Cook!_ aprons, whips around the corner like a boomerang. “Oh _hell no!_ I love you, brotha, but you don’t get propa sleep I’ll—” He lifts his head and parts his bearded mouth in surprise. “Oh… uh…”

“Benny, this is Cas. Cas, Benny—my boss.”

Cas nods his head. “Pleasure is mine.”

“You haven’t experienced pleasure till you’ve tried my beignets,” he replies with a pointed glance at Dean, who has his lips to the sky. “Liz! Where are the menus?”

Elizabeth bursts through the kitchen door. Her long brown hair is scrunched in a ponytail and she smells richly of vanilla and pecan pie—two of Dean’s favorite combinations. He still keenly recalls the day he breezed into Benny’s place, sweaty and oily in ten different places after a long day at the shop. After stretching his stomach for a few beers, Dean flirted for a slice of pecan pie.

Elizabeth, though indifferent when it came to his frisky behavior, thought Dean’s extensive knowledge on beer was impressive. The next day, Dean landed a second job and a new best friend, the shop owner—not to mention Elizabeth’s _godfather_ —Benny.

The southern bell looks quizzically between the two men and her boss. “Am I not serving them?” Benny lends out his hand for the menus, never letting up on his sky-blue hold.

“You can take the night off, Liz. I’ve got it covered from here.”

Elizabeth laughs before patting Dean on the shoulder in an unspoken good luck. When Benny seats them in the booth closest to the kitchen, it’s Dean’s turn to scoff.

“I take it we’re at your parent’s house?”

Dean thumbs through the menu to cover the blush coating his cheeks. “More or less,” he mumbles. That seems to grace a smile on Cas’s face. He raises his right hand above his heart.

“I promise to be on my best behavior.”

Dean shakes his head. “Don’t think it’ll help much.”

“He’s just protective of you, I totally get it.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Dean murmurs.

Like forty-year-old clockwork, Benny comes around the bend, ready to take their orders. Dean orders his usual, the Cajun burger with beer-battered fries and a Diet Coke. Cas, is still contemplating his order— understandably so—but Benny goes straight into interrogation mode.

“You the kinda guy that doesn’t know what he wants?”

Dean shuts his eyes, hoping maybe, if he wishes hard enough, they’ll zap out of here. Luckily, Cas handles it with the expertise of a convicted lawyer. “Honestly, there are a lot of fish in the sea, but the shrimp tacos caught my eye today,” he replies, grinning up at him. Benny actually _huffs._

“Corn or floua?”

“Flour, please.”

“Coming right up.”

With that, Benny takes their menus and hits the kitchen. Dean wills himself to change the subject. “So, how long have you lived in the complex?”

“Only a few months. Steve and I bought the place.”

“Huh. I mean, I know almost everyone but I haven’t seen you until a half an hour ago.”

“He kept me _plenty_ busy.”

Dean laughs, “So what was this guy like?”

“Typical ex,” Cas replies, shrugging. “Not controlling, but overbearing. Not abusive, but belligerent. Everything was a federal case… it’s big for a guy who works at the Gas ‘N Sip.”

“Try having a little brother who works for the federal bureau. Everything is _literally_ a federal case.”

Cas nods as a smile plays on his lips. “I take it he was the one making your phone dance earlier.”

“That’s Sam. But hey, he’s the only family I got, so I can’t complain. You know, next to his fiancé, my shop boss Bobby, and the fine owner of this establishment,” he says, padding the smooth table.

Benny returns with their drinks. Cas acknowledges his speedy service as Benny hands him a straw. “You seem like the kinda fella that sips ratha than gulps.”

“You can never be too careful,” Cas chimes, tearing off the top of the straw wrapping before peeling it back like a shedding snake and sticking it in his lemonade.

Benny retreats back into the kitchen with the same wrinkled expression he came out with.

“Hmm, that doesn’t sound too bad though,” he says after he’s taken a hearty sip of sugar. “I mean, holidays must be quiet.”

Dean chuckles, “Stick around for Christmas.”

“Oh my God.”

“I was just kidding, Cas, I didn’t mean—”

Cas cuts him off tersely, “Not that,” he half-whispers. “Don’t turn around.”

Dean goes frigid looking at Cas. Cas keeps him quite literally on the edge of his seat as he waits for further clarification. Either Benny is standing behind him with a Louisville Slugger (it wouldn’t be the first time he’s beat a date of his, after all), or…

“It’s Steve,” he says after what feels like the turn of the century.

“Here ya’ll are,” Benny says, sliding the entrees to their respective patrons. “The Cajun burger and fries for the workaholic, and the shrimp tacos for his gentlefriend.” He seems to note Cas currently shitting his pants because he dials down on the accusing look. He snaps his head to Dean, who’s angled toward Mr. Federal Case at the bar.

 _Ex-boyfriend,_ he mouths.

Benny’s mouth parts in understanding, and then he lifts an eyebrow. Dean glances at Cas, whose surprise has turned into outright anger, and nods. Benny wipes his hands on his apron and exits the scene only to approach the man at the bar with a sliding fist.

Benny takes Steve outside a few minutes later, and Dean chances another glance at Cas, who hasn’t moved an inch. Dean charges into a half-ass apology, “I’m sorry if I went too far, I just saw the way you were looking at him and heard all the things you told me earlier and assumed that—”

Before he can finish, Cas surges forward and connects his mouth to Dean’s. For a strictly close-mouthed kiss—the kind a third-grader would give to her best friend for giving her half his sandwich at lunch—it sent his heart into overdrive.

When Cas pulls away, Dean asks stupidly, “So… you’re not mad?”

“Do you need me to kiss you again?”

“No, no, I’m good,” he replies, involuntarily grinning like an idiot. “But, I mean… I just—”

“Dean, he’s an asshole, he had it coming. Besides, getting his ass kicked might do him good.”

Dean purses his lips. “Why’s that?”  he asks, not anticipating the answer that slips from Cas’s mouth:

“He’ll be feeling it longer than any dildo.”


End file.
